


My Jedi Stray

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dom/sub, Drunken Shenanigans, Episode: s04e12 Slaves of the Republic, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jedi Code, M/M, Mandalorian, Mpreg, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Slave Obi-Wan, Spar is the Mand'alor we needed, Sub!Obi-wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Fenn has seen stray dogs treated better than the slave he saw by the side of the road. Ratty thing. Covered in dust and mud and blood. Reeking of pain and fear. And, of course, being the big softie that he is, Fenn had to take him home. How did he know that the pretty little red head with those big blue eyes was the famous Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi? For all he knew, the poor stray was just another Stewjonian being wasted by the fields. And, unlike his husband, Fenn was going to do something about it.And now he's in the middle of a big ass debate with the Jedi Council over getting to keep his stray or not. Imagine the joy that brings.Not.





	1. Arrival

Consort to the Mand'alor. That had a nice ring to it. Consort to the Mand'alor. If it were any other system, Fenn Shysa would be just another pretty face in a sea of pretty faces coming to beg something of the Mandalorian leader. Because, ya know, that was how most of the galaxy worked. A combination of greed, corruption, and how much ass eating could get you to the top. Didn't the Aldaraaian people write some novel about that? And how bad it made you feel as a person? Not that Fenn thought some of the courtiers could actually feel bad as a person. Nah, they had passed that a long time ago. And by that, Fenn meant that they had stopped feeling like people when they were in diapers.

He really wished he could get out of this stupid motorcade. Yeah, he understood why they needed to see the Prince of Teardrop's agricultural success. Yay! They had stopped a massive famine with high end fertilizer and a water system. Fenn did not care. He wanted out of this armor (there was a difference in ceremonial armor and work armor) and he wanted back in the air conditioned hotel room so he could get a bath and get a nap. Maybe not in that order. And of course, the actual Mand'alor was at least looking like he was listening nicely and asking all the right questions. Because Spar would have learned that on Kamino. He would have learned how to talk to people in power and not get whipped for it. This really made him angry when he thought of it, so he tried not to think of it.

Fenn looked out the window. His sharp blue eyes focused on the laborers working out in the fields. They all looked ragged. A mixture of humans and aliens. Working under the hot sun. The prince said that they were criminals the lot of them, but Fenn didn't quite believe him. Not when he saw a pretty looking worker being herded over to them. A rather bored Fenn got off of his platform and wandered off. Yeah, he was getting some looks in the ornate green armor he wore. No, he didn't really care. He ambled across one of the fields and pointedly ignored his comm system when he got pinged by his husband to come back so they could do _important things_. The thing was, Fenn didn't want to do _important things_. He wanted to get a good look at this place without the escort.

Something caught his ears. A soft whimpering that made him turn around and look for the source. Not that he was really expecting to find something in this Manda-forsaken shit hole! Fenn walked over there and looked around. It looked like one of the overseers had grabbed a slave and was pretty much beating him around. Slapping him, smacking him, kicking him into the dust and such. The poor guy landed hard and grabbed his stomach, wheezing. Frightened eyes looked up at the man and he cringed, hunched over, generally tried to make himself not look so vulnerable. Fenn paused. The overseer bent down and grabbed the slave by his hair, forcing his head back. Right before he punched the poor guy in the stomach and made him _scream_.

"Hey!" Fenn jumped over a row and got over there as best he could. He really wished that he had some weapons with this armor of his, but he didn't, so he was forced to look menacing. Of course, a guy wearing bright green and gold armor with a long cape going down his back was going to look menacing no matter what he did. "Why don't you pick on someone who doesn't look like he's just crawled out of a Zyggerian slave pen?"

The man turned around slowly and Fenn could see that he had an electro-whip. _Well, shit_. It looked like he was fekked. He eased back some and tried to get in a fighting stance. Normal armor was a lot lighter than this _ossik_. It moved with your body. It didn't hold you down and make you stumble around. In this stuff, you were going to strut around from the sheer issue of trying to get your body to move. Fenn hated it. He wished that he could have armor that moved with him and didn't weight him down. Didn't make him struggle just to take a few steps. However, in this stuff, he could get hit with a small mortar round and still come out on the other end. The man crossed his arms some and glanced down at the slave. He was mostly composed, but there was a broken air about him.

"Why don't you go back to your party?" the man sneered.

"Because I'm bored and this is the one place that looks interesting on this Manda-forsaken planet. And haven't you people heard of _shade_?" Fenn retorted. "I'm _dying_ in this thing! And he's probably gonna burn to a crisp, as fair as he is!" And it was true. The poor slave was probably pretty pale under his mucky coat. It was like he'd been rolling in mud or something.

The man rolled his eyes and kicked the man in the ribs. Fenn _lost_ it. His armored fist smashed into the guy's nose, sending him backwards. There was yelling behind him, but he ignored it and delivered a crushing blow to the guy's solar plexus. He went down and started gasping. Something snapped, too, and he started gasping and coughing up blood. Fenn grabbed him up by the shirt collar and forced the guy to look into his helmet. The t-shaped visor. The way he looked. His armor and the fact that it looked nice and clean.

"So how does it feel to get attacked by someone stronger than you?" Fenn sneered. He growled a little bit, keeping one eye on the slave. He looked like he wasn't really there. Like he was more out of it than he was in it. "You don't like it, _do_ you?"

"Fenn, _c'yare_ , put him down." A green armored hand touched him and almost made him jump. Fenn glanced around and looked back at about half a dozen Mandalorians. He shrugged at them. They shrugged back. Fenn ignored them and helped the guy up. His eyes fluttered closed and, this close, Fenn could tell that he had the prettiest blue eyes... He glanced back at Spar and grinned. And he inclined his helmet, so the other man would know. It was a Mandalorian thing. He glanced around before deciding to speak. And, as an afterthought, he dropped the guy he was holding.

"I want him." He glanced over at the others. "We can buy him or trade for him. Pick." The slave tensed a little bit, but Fenn ignored it. He wanted his pretty blue eyed stray. Honestly, with his mats of read hair, the guy looked like a stray dog. He got the man to his feet and glanced back to Spar. The man smelled worse than a feeding pit at high noon, too. "One of us washes him and one of us does the negotiations. I wash him."

"And you leave me to deal with the prince?" Spar asked.

Fenn smirked. "Wanna swap?"

"Yes." Spar took the slave and started taking him back to the platform. To his credit, the slave stayed quiet.

Fenn glanced back at the others. "Gentlemen? Do you want to make a deal?"


	2. You Reek

The slave smelled worse than an unwashed barracks at high noon. Spar got close enough to get a sniff of the manky mess that was his hair and he almost _gagged_. Make than an unwashed barracks full of cadets who hadn't got sea-legs and had been vomiting all night at high noon. Spar had smelled a few of those in his day and the blood, mud, and vomit clogged mat hanging off of the slave smelled just as bad if not worse. And if he looked closely, he could see the vermin wiggling around inside. Spar tried to breathe through his mouth as he started getting the slave away from the others. The man wobbled on his legs like a newborn colt before going down. Hard. He whimpered and a hand flew to his side.

Spar pursed his lips. He didn't want to do this. He _really_ didn't want to have to carry the slave (and he was supposed to be the classic Mand'alor--bad ass and certainly not carrying around filthy slaves because his husband wanted one!) and the last thing he wanted to do was get another sniff of that hair. He glanced around some and saw a creek about a hundred yards or so out. There. That would work. He'd get the slave washed off and things could proceed as normal. He figured that a little bit of AC would do wonders when it came to the redness he sported on all of his exposed skin. The slave was wearing a pair of ragged trousers, but that was about it. He couldn't even tell the color the hair was supposed to be under all the mud.

He reached a hand down and pulled the slave up before trying to steady him. The man still wobbled and those pretty blue eyes looked a little unfocused. Most clones had a thing for blue eyes. Spar certainly knew he did! Fenn had blue grey eyes, but these were eyes that looked like they belonged to the ocean. Not a stormy sky. Spar huffed out a sigh before scooping him up, bridal style. The slave whimpered softly as he wrapped one hand over his shoulder and buried his face against the armor. The poor _bar've_ was almost feather light in his arms, making this all the more pitiful. Spar tried not to breathe in the stench from the hair and body. It was all going to have to go and Fenn was going to sacrifice a sash because he wanted to keep the slave.

"Oh!" Fenn struggled back over there and came back with the cloak he'd had on his shoulders. "You might want to have this."

"Is this because you hate the cloak?" Spar moved so they could cover the slave up in it. The man didn't move much. He was probably stunned and in pain. Had to be in pain. Spar knew from personal experience how much it hurt to be kicked in the ribs. Steel toed boots made it a thousand times worse. There was probably a few cracked ribs in there, if not something broken. "I'll need some dish soap if you have it. We'll soak him down later."

"Hey! I need dish soap!" Fenn yelled. The man was bold where Spar was not and soon he was having a bottle of soap called for. Spar rolled his eyes and carried the man over to the creek. He wouldn't be able to hold him like that forever. Heavy ceremonial armor tended to leave your arms weak at the best of times and he often grunted from the pain of it. If the slave noticed, he said nothing. Fenn had a runner hand him a bottle of what turned out to be cinnamon apple scented soap. Spar looked at it some. Huh. So there were other brands that weren't straight lye and were probably cheaper. He'd drop the Jedi pricks a line if he remembered to do so. Annoying them was one of the few perks of his job.

"You gotta get a bath." Spar sat him down and helped him grab on to a branch for support. The man wobbled quite a bit and he stumbled as he tried to strip his clothes off. " _Fierfek_!" The slave blanched and gave him a terrified look. Spar waved him off. "Oh, not you. You're fine. I just didn't want to go wading." Clones didn't tend to like water. He cursed softly as he stripped the armor off. If the slave noticed that he was a clone, he said nothing. He just averted his eyes as he clung to Spar for support. Spar made short work of stripping his trousers and small clothes off. "I gotta touch you to wash you, okay? Nothing sexual. Just hold on and I'll see about getting you clean. You be good and I'll put you in a hot tub and feed you cake."

_It works with Fenn. Might as well see if it works with this poor bastard._

The slave nodded some and held on as Spar wet his body down and gave him the best scrub down he could. The water was too cold for Spar to get aroused from this. The poor slave was shivering, too. His teeth chattered as he clung to Spar and it looked like his lips were turning blue. If this were Fenn, this would have been an excuse to fuck his husband silly on the creek bank, but he wasn't touching this filthy slave. Not until they knew he was clean, that was. Spar carefully washed him off as best he could. And then he got to the crotch and the hair. Two things that he didn't want to touch. Cursory touches revealed that he was lacking the organs of a Yavinese, but he was still slender with oddly wide hips. Huh. He was something else then. Spar would see if he had papers.

"Alright. Here's the not fun part." Spar had been using a rag from the trousers to clean him and now he had to do a quick and dirty washing session. If he was too rough and he pulled too much, the slave said nothing and he only whimpered. Again. It sounded just as pathetic as he looked, too. Spar finished that one and let the poor man stop shaking before he considered the hair. In the end, the only way he decided that this could be fixed was by actually biting the bullet and getting it washed out now. They could shave it off later, but the soap would kill any fleas that he had. The lice would need that herbal balm most fancy places carried these days. Spar dunked him a few times and scrubbed out the mop of hair. In the end, it took four washes before the slave had amass of wet red hair that went down below his shoulders.

"Pretty," Spar commented. He was clean, mostly, and that made him look better. Freckles were scattered across his pale skin. It looked like the sun really did bring them all out. He smiled weakly and got them both to the bank before he started drying himself off. One he was done, he tossed the dry cloak at the slave. "Dry yourself off in that and wrap it up." The slave struggled to follow his instructions. Spar let him struggle before finally deciding to help and wrapped him up and picking him up again. He didn't replace the helmet. "You have a name? Or is it just slave?"

The man looked down and whined.

"I'm not gonna beat you," Spar murmured. He could still see the lice, but at least the slave smelled nice. "I just wanna know your name. It's better than just calling you slave or stray all the time, ya know."

He nodded some and tightened his grip when Spar carried him into a waiting speeder. They settled in and the slave looked around before burying his face against Spar's shoulder. Huh. So he was touch starved. Spar could work with that. He knew how it worked, too. So he just held the slave and was a little bit shocked when he started hearing the soft purring.

"I like it when ya do that," he murmured. The slave nodded before purring louder. So he was something. A human hybrid, though he looked to be pure human. Or one of the weird subspecies. "But do you have a name?"

"O-obi-Wan," the man whispered softly.

Well then. That was a pretty common name, from what Spar had heard. Like Jekk or Jango with Mandalorians. So he just nodded and offered the slave some nuts from the fancy cup holder. The man took it out of his arms greedily before nuzzling up in his hands. Spar cleared his throat. "N-none of that, okay? This ain't the time or the place for it."

There was a quiet nod and Obi-Wan curled up in his arms again. Spar tried not to look at the mess in his hair. The poor stray needed a rest, so Spar figured that he could get one. It'd do him some good. They had forty five minutes until they could get to the hotel. As far as Spar cared, it was a nice little nap.


	3. Helpful Help

Obi-Wan was scared. He was completely naked, lying on top of another man, and in a speeder cab with tinted windows. He didn't want this to happen, but it looked like he had little choice. He was too weak and tired to fight it, anyways, and he ate the crumbs of food offered to him by the other man. They were nuts mostly. Nothing that he really liked, but he was too hungry to pass it up. Some of them were covered in a sweet, sticky candy that made his mouth dry. He didn't likeit all that much and he'd kill for some water. The dip in the creek, though, had done more than just get a few years worth of carefully accumulated grit and muck off of his body, though. It'd stripped his only means of protection away.

None of the others were willing to touch a slave that smelled like death warmed over, no matter how pretty his eyes were. After he was raped by the second set of Zyggerian guards and spent days sobbing from the pain of having his insides torn by the barbs on their cocks, he'd stopped washing. Nothing had stopped completely, of course, but the filthier he got, the less likely they were to touch him. When his hair started matting and he picked up vermin, he was tossed from the house and into the fields. It was a small price to pay for not being touched like that. Before all of this. Obi-Wan would have never thought about protecting himself from others like that. After all, who would dare hurt a Jedi Master? Actually, as it turned out, quite a few people.

The Mandalorian pressed a juicy slice of fruit to his lips and Obi-Wan took it eagerly. Even though his belly was starting to cramp (he wasn't used to being fed for such a long period of time), he took it and the next few pieces of fruit. And the offered water bottle. When the Mandalorian _finally_ stopped with the food, Obi-Wan was allowed to curl up and purr. His eyes closed after a few minutes and he barely noticed it when he was carried up the stairs and into one of the largest halls on all of Teardrop. Before, he might have died of embarrassment, but he'd been stripped of his clothing and inspected more than once. He'd also noticed that the worse he smelled, the less frequent the inspections became.

He only really stirred when he heard the water running. Obi-Wan blinked sleepy eyes, but he was still wrapped up in the cloak and it was rather warm. His penis hurt, too, from where he'd been roughly grabbed and twisted during the session in the creek. For a few seconds, he'd thought that the man was going to rip it off, not just wash him. Obi-Wan tried to get himself up some, straining from the effort. His side flared in pain, though, and he screamed from the agony of it. That _hurt_. The Mandalorian glanced over, but then he went back to finding whatever it was from the cabinets. Obi-Wan watched him with exhausted eyes. There was nothing that he wanted to do right now beyond have a warm bath, but he was a slave and a slave was expected to make do with a bottle of dish soap and a hose.

"Hold still." The Mandalorian pulled him closer and tied a cape around his neck. Obi-Wan whimpered softly, not sure what was about to happen. "I don't wanna cut your ears off on accident and have to explain that to Fenn."

There was a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue (asking if the ears would join his penis on the floor), but Obi-Wan swallowed it and tried not to whimper as his hair was brutally shaved down to the scalp. Even the braid he'd started keeping in it in memory of Ahsoka. The Mandalorian was pretty quick with it and he only nicked Obi-Wan once, but the Stewjoni Jedi did not want to see his hair falling down upon the cloak. He'd rather liked having his hair long, but as a slave, he got no choice of what he wore. After his hair was roughly shaved off and the cloak tossed down the incinerator shaft, a thick and foul smelling goop was massaged into his scalp and a colorful sash was wrapped around his head.

"Don't take that off," the man gruffly instructed. His movements weren't all that harsh and Obi-Wan had felt worse, but he didn't want to be manhandled if that was at all possible. "That's gonna kill all the lice in your head and let me take care of that beard. Again, hold still so I don't cut you." The Mandalorian, still wearing his helmet, had a razor blade and shaving cream. Obi-Wan trembled some, but he allowed the man to shave him quickly. He didn't want to be doing this, but he had no choice. The Mandalorian was at least gentle with it and had him shaved and his head wrapped up in a sash after about five minutes. There was nothing Obi-Wan could do but bear it, though, and he just wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

The Mandalorian picked him up and dumped his body in a bath tub full of warm water. Obi-Wan whimpered and his hand flew down to protect his genitals. He was missing his protections right now and the last thing he wanted was to be attacked. He just wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he couldn't. The man watched him for a few minutes before waving his hands at a selection of bath bombs and what looked like bubble bath. The last time Obi-Wan had had a bubble bath was when he was five years old, but he wasn't going to fight about it. Not after he'd been purchased by new owners (and he hated the feeling!) and had no idea what was about to happen to him. For all he knew, they knew he was Stewjoni and he'd been pregnant by the end of the month.

"Call me if you need me. The name's Spar." With that, Spar turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Obi-Wan soaking in a tub full of water. And his legs weren't working well, either. It seemed like a few blows to the head had made him fuzzy. Cody would have killed him if he knew, but as far as Obi-Wan knew, Cody was _dead_. The man sighed softly and curled up as best he could. The warm water was doing wonders to make him feel better, though, and it was impossible for him not to relax. Maybe he could get used to this if they kept on being kind to him. He huffed out a small sigh and just tried to get this over with. He didn't want to be hurt, but he'd lost his freedom the day he stepped foot on Zyggeria.

They must have left him for an hour or so before a blonde man with kind blue eyes entered the room. He had a plate of something that smelled so good with him, but Obi-Wan wasn't hungry. "Hey, Obi-Wan." The man knelt beside him and looked at him. "You smell much better now. My name's Fenn. Let's get you out of there and into some clothes, okay?"

Obi-Wan nodded and took the offered hand. Maybe... he could get used to this.


	4. Pitiful Creature

Fenn wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with the hurt blue eyes that looked at him. Hug him? Kiss him? Make sweet, hot love to him on the bed and possibly get Spar in on it, seeing as the clone had stated before that he wasn't above putting Fenn in the middle and just _wrecking_ him? Fenn tended to be a bit of a switch himself and he enjoyed spicing it up when it came to their rather healthy sex life. But when he looked at those scared eyes, at all the shadows and the hurt in them, he knew that he couldn't frip him. Not just yet. The little slave, Spar called him Obi-Wan, just wasn't ready and they didn't even know if he was healthy or not. He frowned some when he looked at the darkish water.

"I thought you already had a bath, little one," he murmured. Fenn sat beside the hot tub and settled the cake away from the injured man. He really was pretty. In a delicate sort of way. A man who needed more food than what he was getting, for one, and a man who needed to be cared for rather than left to die in a field. He hummed somewhat soothingly and tried to lift him out of the bed. Obi-Wan whimpered some and he tried to struggle, but Fenn caught him. "Now, now. None of that. I'm not gonna hurt you. All I want to do is get you out of here so we can watch a holo." He touched the side again and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. "Ah, you poor thing. Looks like they got you there."

He moved to pick Obi-Wan up and carried the dripping wet, naked slave into the main room. Spar rolled his eyes some, but he did at least lay a towel down on the bed. Fenn hummed a little more and lowered Obi-Wan down on it. The man let out a frightened whimper and clawed at the blankets. It took Fenn a minute to realize that he didn't like being naked. So he draped another towel on top of him and came back with a soft pair of small clothes and loose pants. Clothing that he could wear and it wouldn't hurt him. His chest was scarred like there had been piercings there (and they looked gauged, too), but that had been closed up for quite a long time. Fenn quietly dressed the man when he noticed that the man's _deece_ was bleeding.

"What happened there?" He didn't quite know what to do. It looked like an abrasion, and Obi-Wan didn't appear to be too amused with being dressed, but he was strung out, likely concussed, and all warm and lax from that bath. Obi-Wan whimpered softly and turned his head. "It's okay. You can tell me. I need to know if it's deeper than just an abrasion." He touched the man and other than remaining completely limp, there wasn't any warmth or odd swelling. So no cancer.

"Hurt me," Obi-Wan whispered. The words were so quiet that Fenn almost missed them. He whined softly, not liking it when he was touched, but he submitted to it. He sighed softly and relaxed when the pants were pulled over his hips. He did seem a little more relaxed and he consented to being sandwiched between the both of them. Spar glanced over at him and he trembled. Fenn rolled his eyes and offered him a bite of cake. Frightened eyes met his, but Obi-Wan took it. He ate nibbles of the cake, not eating as much as he probably should, but he did curl up after that was done and purr raggedly. Fenn laughed quietly and touched his full belly. Well then. Maybe he hadn't eaten in awhile.

"You hear that? He's purring!" Fenn shook his head in amazement and kept on rubbing his belly. Obi-Wan started pushing at his hands and before they could stop him, he doubled over and started retching. All over the bed. Fenn yelled and grabbed his head so he couldn't choke on it. Spar cursed. He scrambled up and turned around, looking somewhat irate. Fenn ignored him and kept talking to him quietly, trying to soothe the spasms. "Go call housekeeping, okay? I think he's just feeling a little sick."

"A _little_?" A gagging Spar walked away, though, and he did just that. Fenn helped Obi-Wan up and this time, he washed the man in the shower. Obi-Wan just slumped against him and closed his eyes, not wanting to fight it. Fenn did unwrap the sash and toss it aside and he was so pleased to watch as the dead lice and fleas fall out of his hair and on to the floor. He hummed softly and wrapped the man up close. Fenn tried to keep it as professional as he could, but a quick glance showed that Obi-Wan was almost out of it and he was pretty clearly ashamed. Fenn touched an ass that surely used to be a lot firmer and he whimpered, drawing back.

"I just wanna see if you got torn up, okay? If you're hurt or raw, we can put some stuff on it so you'll get better, okay?" He hummed a little and quietly spread the shivering slave. There wasn't anything fresh and it looked like he was too tight to have had anything recently, but there was some old scarring. Fenn didn't like that. The slave brand did say he was from Zyggeria, but that meant very little. His frame was too stocky to have been slave bred. He had to have had good nutrition once. Maybe by someone else. So he sighed softly and he just kept working. Felt around him some and he felt more scarring inside. Obi-Wan grabbed at his shoulders and he whimpered some.

"M-master! P-please!" He let out a thin wail and tried to struggle away, but Fenn held him close. At the same time, he was starting to have his fingers covered in a warm wetness that wasn't slippery like blood and he could see the beginnings of a boner pressing against his thigh. Fenn pulled back out of him, but he was still alarmed about the scarring. They needed to get that looked at and fast. But first, to get Obi-Wan dressed and back in bed. And this time, he would be nursing a nice ginger ale or a soda.

"It's gonna be okay," Fenn promised a shivering, clingy Obi-Wan. "It's gonna be okay. You're safe now, little one."


	5. Get You Stronger

Spar glanced back at the skinny slave pressed between both of them. The clone really wasn't happy with all that had happened since he'd gotten Obi-Wan, but was he really one to judge? He'd pulled more than his fair share of bad moves when he was young. Then again, buying that slave was probably one of the worst ones that he'd seen so far. Obi-Wan was worthless. Borderline helpless in his own right, completely dependent on them for _everything_ , and didn't have the sense to tell them that he was full when his belly couldn't take anything more. Really? Spar would have just left the man there, but his husband had seen something in him. Spar would try to see that, too. He just didn't know what it was yet.

Shy blue eyes met his dark ones as Obi-Wan curled up with both of them. The man sighed softly and closed his eyes. He seemed to be pretty warm, which was good. He needed the warmth if he was going to get better. Spar idly traced circles in his back and was rewarded with that sweet, tired purr that he did. They needed to figure out what he was. If he was some Yavinese hybrid, he might have heat cycles and if he had those... well, Spar wasn't ready for kids yet. He let his eyes roam over the slave and noted how their clothes swamped him. And he looked so much younger without the long, matted hair and the beard. He looked... _innocent_. Obi-Wan was small, too. Spar had maybe a foot on him and the man fit perfectly against his chest.

"You look better clean," Spar murmured. He gently stroked the coppery hair and was rewarded with a faint smile. Fenn gave him a sly look, but Spar ignored him. He let his hands play out over the other man and frowned when he touched the hollows of the other man's ribs. Obi-Wan whimpered some. His hand flared up to stop it, but he tried to pull it back right after. Spar shook his head. "No need for that, _ad'ika_. You don't want me to touch you there. I understand it. So I won't touch you there." This was going to be harder than he thought, wasn't it?

"He's all ripped up inside," Fenn softly said. He settled down on the bed and pulled out what looked to be a vial of scar tissue cream. Only it was in light, gel form. Obi-Wan saw that and whined, grabbing at the blankets. Spar noticed that he was breathing heavily so he wrapped the other man up in a hug. He needed this. He needed to know that he was okay and they weren't going to hurt him. Frightened blue eyes met his and Obi-Wan squeaked. He kicked at Fenn, but Fenn caught his foot and placed a hand on his hip. "Easy. Easy there, _ad'ika_. This just goes inside you so you won't get sick. It's for Yavinese, but the guy I called said that youcan get impacted just like they can and this is just to prevent that, okay?"

"No!" Obi-Wan struggled in their arms, pure terror in his eyes. One of the pots on the window sill rattled and it was like he came back to himself. The man let out a high pitch, terrified cry, but he slumped back. Spar tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I'll be good. I _promise_. I promise I'll be good..."

"You're so good for us already," Fenn cooed. He cupped Obi-Wan's chin and tried to soothe him. The Mandalorian man just sat there and let him look at the vial. "It's just for your scars, okay? Nothing bad. Nothing that would hurt you or make you bleed. Just to make your scars a little less bad and make it so your slick wasn't so bloody. Did they give you an implant?"

"Not worth enough," Obi-Wan mumbled. "I bite."

Fenn hooked a thumb at Spar. "My husband bites, too." He stroked Obi-Wan's belly and smiled softly. "You're such a treasure, you know. So good for us. A treasure that's forgotten what he is until he got washed off, okay?" He quietly spread Obi-Wan on his fingers and rubbed the gel in. Spar still held him. Obi-Wan whimpered and clutched at the other man, but at least he wasn't panicking like he was before. "You're doing so well, you know. So, so good for us. Being a good boy and being still... Spar, do you think he deserves another soda? The black cherry one that he liked so much?"

"I think so." Spar stroked the man's face some. They could get him another soda and let him curl up. For his part, Obi-Wan was stoic about it and he said nothing about the way he became aroused during all of this. Spar spat on his fingers and quietly took care of the problem. Obi-Wan came with a quiet "oh!" into his hands and slumped back, a little dazed. Fenn at least got the things to wash him off with and Spar settled the sated slave on his chest. It wasn't time for another soda, but it was time for him to just relax some. Obi-Wan was dressed back into his over sized clothes and he was snuggled under the covers. He butted his newly shaved head up under Fenn's some and sighed softly.

"I've seen dead dogs who look better than he does," Fenn softly said. He kept rubbing and stroking Obi-Wan and Spar was surprised to see a little bit of a dreamy quality hit them. Huh. He would have thought that they beat that out of him, but it looked like their slave was something special. Spar breathed out his nose slowly. The man needed help. He really did. But was this the best place to care for him? "I looked through all his papers. The mark matches the paperwork and he's as legal as you'll get from Zyggeria. Thirty three standard years old, Stewjoni, slave bred... but not a lot on him. He's had no babies, or they weren't recorded."

"He might be infertile." Spar knew just from listening that Stewjoni and Yavinese slaves were impregnated young and tossed aside as soon as they couldn't bear children anymore. "That would explain why he was in the fields rather than in the house with the other pretty ones." There were gags and other things you could use to curb biting. Spar knew because he's busted up several slaver rings when he was in the GAR. One of the only good things they did, too. "But we'll need to get him cleared by a doctor and I don't think he'll like that."

"Self lubricating or not, no human is made to take a Zyggerian tom."

Spar blanched. "What?!" They couldn't have done that to the man lying in his husband's arms. No matter how annoying he was or how much he bit. The amount of tearing and blood that would have incurred... You would be hard pressed to toss a penny sale slave to the Zyggerian toms. Not because it was cruel, but because it was hard to find a place that would take the body. He glanced down at the sleeping man and shuddered. "No wonder he hates getting spread!"

"There's scarring," Fenn softly said. "A lot of scarring. It's going to take a long time."

The man nodded, his heart moved by the small figure. Wrapped up in blankets and snuggled close to his husband. Spar looked up and tried to ignore that he was almost in tears. "We'll give him that time," he rasped. "As much time as he needs. Because he deserves it. All of it."


	6. Now That I'm Gone

The last time he'd been on a ship was when they were taking him off of Zyggeria. They had just learned who he was, that he wasn't just a Stewjoni slave, and they had thrown him to the toms. He'd been bloodied and stunned, wailing in agony, when they locked him in the dirty cage and then held him there until he was sold. The cage had been _tiny_. He couldn't even stand up and he'd been packed in there with a load of animals. And then, the only thing that had kept him from going crazy was the steady _thrum_ of the starship's engines. He could close his eyes and fool himself that he was somewhere else, that he was just waiting on Anakin, and that it would all be over soon.

Obi-Wan had stopped believing that lie two years ago.

The metal was cool under his feet as he leaned against the transperi-steel window. He could see the remains of a galactic storm swirling somewhere off the port bow and the odd flashes of light as tiny comets passed through the atmosphere of larger asteroids. When he leaned against the window, it was like he could fall into space. And then... maybe he'd know peace. He'd said that his life was meant for "infinite sadness" once. Obi-Wan bit back the wry smile. Oh, how he didn't know how true that was when he said those words. He'd just been messing around with his padawan then. Talking to a younger man, finally finding someone that maybe wouldn't leave him like all the others had. And that was only for Anakin to leave him on that hellhole called Zyggeria.

It wasn't worth wasting tears over it. Obi-Wan had cried enough when he was first captured. After a little bit, you learned to stop and you sent your mind away. He pulled away from the window and busied himself with tidying the sitting room. From the sound of things, his new owners were really enjoying themselves in the other room. Obi-Wan was only too painfully aware that the reason why he wasn't pressed into service just _yet_ was they didn't know if he was clean or not. It also helped that he was scrawny and still had that brutally short haircut. He sighed softly as he worked, sorting trinkets and messing with pillows. Maybe they wouldn't be too mad if he made himself some tea. At this point, he'd take that bitter black tea Quinlan swore by.

He padded into the small kitchen and found a battered box of tea behind a canister of some sort of spice. Obi-Wan stared at the box for a long minute, trying to make out the lettering. It was like his mind was having trouble translating the letters into words. He huffed out a frustrated sigh and looked around. Good. No one would be able to see this. Obi-Wan might not have been able to get his freedom, but he had been able to get a little something for himself more than one. He gritted his teeth and opened up to the Force. After so long, it was like his connection was withered, but enough came through that he was able to force his mind into reading the brand name.

And of course they would have the cheap crap that you bought at a fuel station. Obi-Wan allowed himself a smile. Cheap fuel station tea it might have been, but at least it was tea. And who was he to complain about tea? Obi-Wan managed to get a pot of water boiling and was pursuing the label (it looked like this was just an herbal tea, no caffeine boost) when he looked up. A very mussed up looking Fenn Shysa opened the door of the refrigeration unit, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter as he cracked it open. Obi-Wan quietly put the box of tea down. He didn't know if he was supposed to read or not, but the best bet was to not and then not get beaten for daring to engage his mind.

"Forgive me, Master," he softly said. He ducked his head. "I didn't mean to snoop, but I was tidying up and I found tea. I... I like tea, so I boiled the water and made some. Please... I don't know if this is yours or not..." Obi-Wan swallowed. This tea was too crappy to be worth getting a beating over. Now some Sapir? Maybe. And yes, if he had Qui-Gon's tea set with him. "I didn't mean to snoop."

Fenn looked around some. "The fact that you found tea amazes me and I honestly don't care as long as you don't make a mess." He took another long swallow and looked around the now tidied kitchen. "You did good work. I mean, you didn't have to do this, but good job."

Obi-Wan took the praise, even though the tone was as condescending as hell. "I have to earn my place," he pointed out. "You said it yourself--you can't breed me or frip me because of my scarring and the fact that you don't know if I'm clean or not. Which, to prove your point, I myself don't know." He gave Fenn a shy smile. "But I did have...effective ways of keeping them off of me."

"Yeah. You smelled like a sewer," Fenn muttered. "What did you do? Roll around in bantha poodoo?"

"Something like that." Obi-Wan took his pot off the eye and quietly set things up to steep. This was the sort of tea that required sugar to actually taste good, but once he smelled that wonderful steamy smell, he started drooling. Well, at least he managed to keep it clean enough to where he wasn't drooling all over himself, but he figured that Fenn knew what he wanted. Obi-Wan knew he wasn't wearing a collar and he smiled to himself. Maybe he could get out of here. After he got his strength back, of course. Find his way back to the Jedi Order and give his report. It was amazing how much a few nights of good food and rest could go towards making a man feel better.

"You're pretty, you know." Fenn walked behind him and shook his head slightly. Obi-Wan froze. He couldn't use the Force. Not here. Not here and expect to escape with his life intact. He was going to have to take this. He swallowed softly and submitted himself to the touches. They were nothing like being groped and fondled by a guard, but it was still humiliating and he didn't like it. "I don't know why they didn't just hose you off and take you inside the house."

Obi-Wan leaned his head back so his lips brushed the other man's ear. "That's because I almost bit a man's _deece_ clear off," he whispered. "They beat the hell out of me and left me to bleed for a few hours before trying again. After the third man was bitten, they decided I was too much trouble and left me to rot out in the fields."

Fenn swallowed and drew his hands back quickly. "Duly noted and I now know what you don't like."

"I'm pretty cheap," Obi-Wan shrugged. "Feed me well, let me sleep in a bed, and don't molest me every night and I'll give you the best blowjob you've ever had. I just don't like being held down and gagged, to tell you the truth." A part of him expected that he was going to be smacked for that, but Fenn did nothing. Obi-Wan still didn't breathe a sigh of relief. He might have been a cheap whore, but he was still a former Jedi at heart and he didn't need to add yet another soul crushing experience on top of it.

"I know," the blonde man replied. He sighed softly and rubbed his head. "You're human, just like the rest of us. And why aren't you acting all scared and cowering like you used too?"

"My belly isn't clawing out of my rib cage, you haven't whipped me, and I have tea," Obi-Wan replied. He took a sip of the stuff and almost moaned at the taste. Force, but he hadn't known fuel station tea could taste so good!

"I see,"Fenn softly said. He downed the rest of his beer and left. Obi-Wan watched him, wondering just what was going on in that mind of his. Was he about to be outed as a Jedi Knight? Or was it just another false alarm like all the other times?


	7. Homecoming

Fenn would have been jealous of the slave if he hadn't seen how the man ate. It was like Obi-Wan had once known proper manners, but there he was, bolting all of the food down and licking off his hands before asking for more. Fenn liked to consider himself a man of refined tastes. Well, for a Mandalorian. Instead of the _prejaa_ his husband guzzled down by the tankard, he drank a fine wine instead. Or he opted for lighter fare, from places like Naboo or Concord Dawn instead of the rough, meat based diet from Mandalore proper. It did help that Fenn hadn't been born on the planet when it was occupied by the so-called True Mandalorians. He had been born during a time when it was perfectly okay to like the finer things in life.

Tobbi Dala would have laughed at him for saying such a thing, but his best friend wasn't with him. The man was currently trying to root out Death Watch, right after another failed attempt to take over the city. They were starting to get almost laughable at this point. If they didn't have an astounding ability to get raw materials to make powerful bombs, Fenn might be tempted to let them grow uninterrupted just to see how far they could actually get. Mandalore was still divided. Spar might force the Northern and Southern Mandalorians to stop with the centuries old feud, but that was about as far as he could go. There were still days when Fenn just wanted to throw his hands up and nuke the hell out of all three factions.

He tried to ignore Obi-Wan wolfing down all of that food. He really did. It was starting to turn his belly just to look at it. The red head was inhaling all of his food and had an arm looped over it so no one could even _look_ at it. Not that Fenn wanted to look at the food that was being inhaled. He rolled his eyes some as he ate his own food. He rather did like the thick noodles with the veggies and the spicy sweet sauce. It really was good. The crunchy beans, the texture of the noodles, and the peppers. Fenn closed his eyes and savored it. Spar looked like he was eating this just to humor his husband. Fenn flashed him a grateful smile. He really did love the other man. Spar had saved him from a very dark place when he was younger. If it wasn't for Spar, he would probably be dead in a ditch or something.

Spar got up as soon as he was done. "I'll see about getting us landed. We might need to craft a press briefing about Obi-Wan here. I don't want us to be accused of being True Mandalorians or having Death Watch leanings." He grimaced and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Why'd you have to get a sub-type? Of all the varieties of slave out there, why did we wind up a Stewjoni?"

"Because your husband decided that he likes men who are covered in dirt?" Obi-Wan paused as he gulped down his dinner. "This is very good, you know. Could I have some more, please?"

"I don't want you to sour your stomach," Fenn replied. He shook his head some. The thick noodles would make him sick if he didn't eat it slowly enough. "And you can calm down. These need to be eaten a little more slowly, or you could get sick." He grimaced some. You could thank a college frat boy party for teaching him that one. "I don't want you to get sick. Just eat these a little bit at a time and you'll be doing good." He offered a smile and stood up. Fenn needed to get his head together. A quick glance at the readouts said they were only a few hours away from Mandalore. He took a deep breath. He could have Obi-Wan adopt a tooka kit or a fathier and they could make a day out of it. He would need to be introduced to the press slowly. Or maybe not at all until he was healthy enough.

Obi-Wan nodded and started trying to chew slower. "Are these Nabu? I think I've seen or smelled something like this before..."

"Yeah. They're Nabu." Spar looked a little taken aback, but he quickly recovered. "How would a field slave like you know about this, though? From what I understand and correct me when I'm wrong, but I thought you guys ate gruel."

"I would never presume to correct any of my Masters," Obi-Wan demurred. He looked at his hands, making that odd purring sound he did when he was upset or scared. Fenn watched him closely. He was starting to wonder just what was there. Where was Obi-Wan from? His records were sketchy at best. Everyone knew that the Zyggerians were data hoarders. Now, not everyone else was, but the Zyggerians usually kept impeccable records. Had Obi-Wan been bought from a private breeder? Kept as someone's pet until they died? It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened. Obi-Wan rose from his  seat and started gathering the plates and bowls. "To answer your question, I've traveled around and either I was fed fine food or slop."

"That was a non-answer if I ever heard one," Fenn muttered. "You're good."

Obi-Wan shrugged as he took the plates back to the kitchen. "You get good at things like that. For my Masters, I mean. They trusted me and I thought that they cared enough to find me after I was captured. Private slavers." He gave a tired shrug. "And if you'll excuse me, I really don't want to spill much more about them. I respect them enough for thirty good years of life."

"So you're thirty three?"

"Tell me the day and I'll tell you how old I am," Obi-Wan replied. Fenn watched him as he started to wash out the pots and pans. Fenn loved cooking for his husband (and he would happily tolerate the campfire meals that his husband considered fine food), but he had made quite the mess. Fenn checked his chrono and told him what it was. Obi-Wan sighed and put the scrub brush down. "So I'm thirty four, then. Almost thirty five. Though I can't tell you for sure. No one knows my birthday. I was left at their doorstep as an infant and I'm grateful that they took me instead of the breeders. At least I had a friend there. And someone I loved when I was younger, but there wasn't a chance."

"Why's that? And you know we have an automatic dishwasher, Obi-Wan. You don't have to do that by hand."

Obi-Wan ignored the last part of that question. "He was older than me," the red head sighed. He looked down, clearly trying not to cry. "He was much older than I was. I don't think he would have ever let himself love me without feeling horrid about it. But he was my best friend and after I got over my crush, I looked at him like a father."

"Where is he?" Spar fidgeted some at the table. Going from the tone, it was like he wanted to get that slave so their Obi-Wan felt better.

"He's dead," Obi-Wan murmured. "He's been dead for years." He looked down, trying to gather his thoughts. Fenn walked over and pulled the other man into a hug. Obi-Wan melted into his arms, his shoulders shaking. "He was killed by another slave. I... I killed that other slave. I thought he was evil, but I looked into his eyes as I killed him. He was even more of a slave than we were and he knew it. But I don't think he was angry that I killed him. I think that he was happy... happy that we released him." Obi-Wan sighed and gripped his shirt even tighter. "It... It took me a long time to get over my friend. I still remember him. And... and sometimes, I would give anything to have his last gift back."

Fenn pulled Obi-Wan close, stroking through his hair. Obi-Wan seemed to melt into him, a crying and shaking mess of a man. Fenn just tried to soothe him. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I really am sorry. But you don't have to go through that anymore. You don't have to fight anyone anymore. You just have to concentrate on getting better, okay?"

"I wish I could believe that," Obi-Wan whispered. "I really wish I could."

Fenn squeezed him closer and tried to soothe the shaking man. It was all that he knew to do.


	8. Land With Your Boots First

Spar wasn't the one who made the press releases. That just wasn't his area of strength. When he was training in the GAR, he had been concentrated in getting in, blowing things up or killing people, and then getting out before he was killed in the process. Killing an Alpha trooper was hard, but it could be done. There was a Shadow Hunter who did it once or twice. Kid's name was Tsunami. Spar had a wicked scar going down his back from that trooper's daggers. That had also gifted him the lifelong joy of random nerve pains that usually struck at the worst of times. The doctors couldn't seem to do much about it, meaning that Tsunami had kriffed up more than Spar realized at first.

He hoped that the demons of Murphy had killed that trooper. If someone needed to be swept into one of those tentacle space monsters that had taken up in the Kessel Cloud, it was Tsunami. There were days when Spar would pay good money to make him a spacelopod's dinner. Then again, knowing Tsunami, he could magic his way out of most anything and then he'd be home free.

He settled down at the table, glancing at the sheets of flimsi. Why did he think this was such a good idea? He was the man who blew up Death Watch. The man who took out the gangs of smugglers and traffickers who wanted to turn Mandalore and Concord Dawn into a new version of the Crimson Corridor. Spar was the man with a plan and the big guns. He was not the one who made politely worded statements to the press about a certain Obi-Wan and the fact that Obi-Wan was very much a slave.This wasn't like when the True Mandalorians ruled. There were rules for everyone, up to and including himself. While he might have been the final say on paper, it was worth noting that Fenn was the one to save his _shebs_ more than anyone else.

Spar rolled his eyes as he considered how to go about this. The first three drafts of his letter had already been wadded up and thrown in the waste basket. Those would be recycled once they got back home. And speaking of home, they were almost there and he was going to leave this job to the professional. That would be his husband, Fenn Shysa, and he was going to get himself some dinner and another beer. At about that time, the most wonderful smell filled the room he was working in. Spar decided that he was going to take that as a sign from the gods that this was the time for him to get up and get some grub. He shelved the project, following his nose to the galley.

Wonder of wonders, but Obi-Wan was cooking. The ginger had put on some clothes that fit him now, just a loose shirt and cargo pants, but he still looked stunning. It was the hair, Spar decided. Red heads were pretty rare in the galaxy and he figured that was why Obi-Wan was kept rather than turned into dog meat. They must have still planned on breeding him. He leaned against the counter and watched. From the smell of it, Obi-Wan was cooking some kind of potatoes. Maybe with a gravy. Had to have some garlic there, too. It looked like he was having a good time of it, because he was relaxed and doing pretty well. The man turned after a few minutes and cursed under his breath the second he saw Spar.

"This time, let the droids do the dishes. And we'll be eating this lovely food in the back of a speeder," Spar informed him. He looked the other man over. "I haven't contacted the press yet, so please keep a low profile."

Obi-Wan coughed. "I'm not going to run to the press and scream that you've been keeping me against my will and I'm a refugee from Tamil." He coughed some. "Wrong skin color for that, I'm afraid." He rolled his eyes some and handed Spar a small bowl, filled to the brim with mashed potatoes and a gravy. "I don't tend to eat much meat, by the way. I hope that's okay with you."

"You're cooking and I don't have too." Spar helped him get the rest of the food together and sighed softly. "And besides, cooks don't do the dishes. I thought you knew that." He rolled his eyes some as he threw the blanket over Obi-Wan's head. He didn't want the man to be recognized. On the off chance that he actually was someone, too. Fenn was still a little unnerved by all of this and Spar didn't blame him. Who left a Stewjoni to die in a field? It was like making a pedigreed cat herd sheep and then getting mad when the cat couldn't do it. He huffed out a tired sigh as he started to get the other man down the plank and out of the ship. All of the reporters weren't out yet, so he figured that his guards had done their job.

His head man in charge, a Trandoshan named Drasst, cleared his throat. "We have sssecured the area, Manda'lor." He glanced at the other man and hissed softly. Obi-Wan hissed right back and batted away the hand that tried to remove who his hood. "And who is thiss?"

"His name is Obi-Wan and Fenn decided to get him." Spar made a face and shoved Obi-Wan inside before the Trandoshan could get a good look at him. He was going to get a chewing from Drasst later on about bring in strange people, but he didn't care less. Or maybe he would sign Fenn up to get the butt chewing. That was a good idea, too. He rolled his eyes some as the speeder started to move. It wouldn't take much for them to get through downtown traffic. For his part, Obi-Wan was digging into the food he'd made. The man at least was using a spoon this time, too. Obi-Wan didn't even look up and Spar pretended not to see him lick put the bowl.

Spar rubbed his face. How the hell were they going to explain this one away? It didn't make any sense, not even for him, and he was really too tired to fight with it. The older man sighed softly and leaned back on the seat. He was getting the feeling that this was going to be hard on Obi-Wan. He snorted softly. There was an old Mandalorian saying for that. "Land with your boots first." It was " _Kemir ti gar cetare sol'yc_ ," if you were one of the purist types. Spar just wished that he had a beer right about now. He could tell that this was going to be a long day already.

He just hoped Obi-Wan was up for it.


	9. A Media Circus

Obi-Wan was under no illusions that this was going to go as planned. He'd already been bundled up as best he could and escorted by three armed Mandalorians through the crowds. From the looks of them, they weren't the ones to mess around. He sighed softly and just kept his head down. So this was his life now. Forced to live in the rotting palace where his former lover had been killed. A part of him wondered if they had even bothered to wipe the floors clean before rolling in the new leadership. Obi-Wan understood that you needed to make a regime change quick, but not even Darth Maul could hold Mandalore together for very long. He had heard that it was like herding cats who came equipped with a pod of rocket launchers.

He pulled the cloak over his face as he was hustled to the waiting speeder. The Former Jedi sighed softly as he was walked, just trying to keep it all under control. The temptation to break and run was really started to get to be too much. The duracrete was hard to walk on when you had nothing but socks on. Obi-Wan just wanted to go home, but he was pretty sure that wasn't in the cards right now. The biggest Mandalorian, Obi-Wan thought his name was Jaid, basically hemmed him in with the others. Obi-Wan was pretty sure that would hand him to the guards if he as much batted an eye wrong right now, so he just obeyed and did what they said. That included getting in that car even though his instincts screamed at him to _run_.

Force, but he missed Anakin. He missed his padawan. He missed Ahsoka and Force help him he even missed Mace Windu of all Jedi. What he wouldn't give to just have the time to sit at the Jedi Temple and have some tea. Even that overly sweetened thing that Anakin called tea. Just so he could sit with his padawan and his grand padawan again and not have to worry if he would be assaulted for some minor misstep. He shivered as he slipped into that car. Buckled his seat belt unbidden and huddled down. They probably thought he was some political prisoner. Spar wouldn't be the first one to do that. Heck, there were prisoners under the Jedi Temple that everyone else loved to pretend didn't exist.

Jaid tapped the driver,  another armored Mandalorian, on the back. "Alright, Njon. Let's get Ben here home." The big man rested back and Obi-Wan wondered if he'd known that man before. He thought that he might have remembered the striking armor pattern or the way that he moved. Jaid sighed and rubbed his visor some. "Why we have to be on babysitting duty is beyond me. I miss the good old days when you could just pistol whip those annoying reporters and move on."

The second snorted. "Oh, you. You know it wasn't _that_ fun. The Duchess liked to execute potential assassins herself and Lord Maul zapped them with lightning before we could even get to them. At least we have things to do here."

"Shut up, Chiix." Jaid rested his head back on the headrest. Obi-Wan tried to ignore them. It looked like the city had stayed mostly the same. The troops still loyal to Maul still had those Force awful horns on their helm, but at least they saluted as the speeder went past. There were few vagrants. The city was actually very clean and he thought he could see the glisten of new whitewash. There were a few streets that looked like they lead to the seedy side of town, but those were few and far between. Even the flickering neon lights had been replaced with new ones and all the halogen street lamps were working. Someone had even replanted hundreds of pen oak trees around the main road through town.

"Who planted all the trees?" Obi-Wan softly asked. He cringed, hoping he wasn't going to get punished for asking that question. Try as he might, he still didn't want to be punished.

Chiix shrugged. "Jaid? You know who planted the trees?"

Jaid grunted. "Nope. All I know is that they're a pain in the _shebs_ for the power crew once a storm rolls through." He gave Obi-Wan a half look. "The name's Jaid. The idiot right beside me is Chiix. Otherwise known as the worst pilot on Mandalore--"

"I crashed one time, _mir'sheb_. _One time_. Once! That's the only time I've ever crashed in my entire life and you have to make a big deal about it! Why don't you try to land a seaplane in horrible conditions and you make it out pretty as an angel! _Mhi an gotal'ur bic_! I can't say the same thing about you and that crazy stunt you pulled with Lady Poximetra!"

Jaid continued on like Chiix hadn't said a single word. "And driving us is Njon. He's never had a wreck in his entire life, proving that it can be done."

Chiix muttered something that sounded fairly insulting under his breath and Obi-Wan cringed. These two sounded like they couldn't keep quiet if their lives depended on it. And that really did hurt. Especially when he thought about Anakin and how he had acted the same way. All too soon, they made it to the palace. And this time, there was a crowd of cameras and drones flying all over the place. Sentients of all races were shouting. Most were questions about the hooded man that had been seen at the space dock. Obi-Wan tried to sink into the seat. This was not going to go well. He could just feel it. The Former Jedi shuddered as he looked around. He didn't want anything bad to happen.

Njon got out first and actually pulled out a blaster rifle. "Everyone! Get away from the speeder! Last time I checked, internal affairs were not part of your coverage and this doesn't involve the rest of the galaxy! Now get!" Chiix joined him and together they formed  a line. Jaid jerked his hood down lower and forced a shivering Obi-Wan out of the car. This reminded him far too much of that first slave auction. The one where he had tried to fight back and they almost killed him for it. Sentients of all races were filming him and snapping pictures. One even had a live feed about how this was unprecedented and proof that a clone trooper wasn't fit to rule.

That last one made Jaid mad. "Excuse me," he murmured. And then he grabbed his blaster and clocked the young Twi'lek in the head. She shrieked at him, but Jaid held his stance. "Young lady, why don't you keep the yellow journalism to the newsroom?"

" _Demagolka_!" the woman spat. "Clone loving monster!"

Jaid just shrugged and hustled Obi-Wan inside. "Why don't you get laid, sweetheart? It might help the attitude some."

And then Obi-Wan was inside. The doors closing behind him sounded like the cage door slamming shut once again. And this time, Obi-Wan didn't harbor the illusion that he could escape.


	10. Grounded

There was an old Mandalorian saying about there being no place like home. If Fenn was thinking correctly, and he wasn't drunk so he knew he was, he thought it went something like ' _Ogir nayc ashi yaim_.' Or, for all those purists out there... "There is no other home." Fenn really felt that as he closed the doors on the press. They didn't have the time to brief everyone on what they were doing with Obi-Wan. There just wasn't enough time to do that. It had been a spur of the moment thing to get him and it wasn't like he could craft a press release in his head. That, though, was what he had the PR department for and that was why he paid them so much. He waved cheerily to the pink Twi'lek woman as he walked by.

She flipped him the bird, a flush spreading over her skin. Na'sia was not happy and Fenn was starting to understand why the others said she was a force of nature. The woman marched right up to his face and started jabbing her finger at him. "You fool! You _di'kut_ , you complete _ori'jagyc or'dinii_!  _Ni'duraa_!" She punctuated that last one with a spit and that look in her violet eyes made him step back. He might have been wearing armor, but Na'sia was pissed and she was pissed enough to start cursing in his face. This was the most poised, calm, professional woman he knew. Not that he knew many women. But there she was, cursing at him and ranting about just what she was going to do about him and his little head.

If he hadn't been fearing for the life of his _deece_ , Fenn would have given her a raise for speaking her mind like that.

"So... did Death Watch stir up the Southern Clans again or did I forget your birthday?" It was custom to send all valued personnel something for their birthday. Fenn usually had a remind system set up, but he might have forgotten... "Look. I'll take you to the best place in town for lunch and you can have the rest of the week off with your wife. And a raise. Will that make you stop threatening me?"

"You. Have. A. Slave. I thought you were better than that!" Na'sia drew herself up to her full height of a very impressive five foot three (Fenn was over six feet, but he was feeling less than an inch tall right now) and gave him a look that would have stopped Gar Saxon in his tracks. "You. Out of all the idiots on Mandalore. You go out, buy a slave, bring him back _here_ , and have _Jaid pistol whip that annoying reporter_! Not that I blame him because yesterday I caught her going through our trash, but the point still stands that you brought a slave! Here! _In my palace_! Heavens help me, if Lord Maul had pulled this stunt, I would grab him by his ear and drag him out there to talk to them himself!"

"And you can't do that because I'm taller than he is." Fenn grinned at her. Then he realized his mistake. Because if looks were daggers, he would be in little pieces on the floor right about now. He groaned and rubbed his neck, trying to think about how to salvage this one. "Look. Na'sia. It was a spur of the moment thing. He's Stewjoni, he's in bad shape, and I want to make him feel better. They were beating the crap out of him! You know that cat you rescued, the one we nearly fought a war over?"

Na'sia nodded and a white cat poked her head around the corner to hiss at him. Feisty hated men and with good reason. The person who dragged her for about a mile over pavement had been a man. She now had 3-D printed paws and an attitude that was best described as "ghastly" unless she liked you. And she didn't like a lot of people. Na'sia picked up her cat and glared at him. "I'm well aware of what you did over my cat and thank you. But you still created a PR nightmare by dragging that slave back here. Especially after what you did to that slaver ring. You know as well as I do that you might have meant well, but the press isn't going to see it that way."

Fenn sat down and rubbed his face even more. "Look, I know. I know I made a bad move. You don't have to tell me this, Na'sia. I already know. I just... I need you to make it look better." That's why he paid her the big bucks. Na'sia was good at what she did and he was so glad Maul hired her. That Zabrak might have been a maniac, but he had a nose for talent.

"I can't." Na'sia gave him a long look. Feisty purred and made that high pitched meow that annoyed him so much. He honestly liked dogs so much better, but Spar didn't want any of those, yet, so he was willing to wait. The woman rubbed her t'chin with her free hand and gave him a very tired look. "You know I can't. You know I can't make this look better. I just can't, because you had to make that decision."

"The other was leaving him to die. I can justify sending Marines in over a cat and I can justify bringing Obi-Wan here."

Na'sia gave him a grim look. "You think you can. I don't think so. Death Watch is starting to make noise again. Something about you breaking your own laws because you saw a pretty face. And it just happens to be a man, not a pretty little Twi'lek girl or some Pantoran snatched off the street. They're going to start making moves. Bringing more riots to the streets. Patron X is going to start hiring protestors again and this time you just might lose your hold on the throne, Fenn. You know that Spar--"

"Spar has every right to being Mand'alor," Fenn snapped. "He defeated Bo-Katan in armed combat. It's the right of every Mandalorian."

"He's Kaminoan," Na'sia retorted. "Not _Mando'a_."

Fenn snapped his head back and groaned. Where were the arrogant university students when he needed them? The ones who would wax poetic about diaspora and everything else that made his head hurt? All the ones who got offended by _Vode An_ , but understood 'issues' that he didn't have the time to look into? He'd been talking to one of them not just a week ago about some sort of riot. She was the ringleader and she'd been captured. The meeting hadn't gone well. The funny thing was that Fenn thought she had a few good points, but when she started ranting and accusing him of kissing Padme Amidala's boots... he had had enough and threw her out of his office.

"Well, he married me. And he's one of Jango's. The kids have a fancy name for that nowadays." He snapped his fingers as he tried to think of it. Oh, it had just been there a second ago... "Diaspora! That's it! _That_ 's the word! He's Mandalorian by blood, but not because he was born here. Jango's blood gives him the right to challenge Bo-Katan legally and, since he married me, he gets do it double legally." See? He had learned something from talking to that girl. Other than knowing that she was offended by the Wall of Tears and the fact that he let Southern Mandalorians have some of their customs back. You would have thought, considering what her shirt said, that she would have supported that.

You would have thought wrong.

"You sound like one of those blood obsessed fanatics. The ones on the holo preaching about how you're ruining Mandalorian culture." She shook her head some and let the cat down. "I'll do what I can, Fenn, but no promises. You made a really big mess that I might not be able to pick up. Not all the way."

Fenn nodded as he got up. "Thanks, Na'sia."

"And when this has all blown over, you owe me lunch." Na'sia grinned at him as she left, leaving Fenn to think about what he was going to do next. Na'sia was right... he was in a tough spot with no easy outs and it was all his own fault.


	11. The Surprise

Spar needed to get drunk. Or he needed to frip his husband. Or both at the same time, because there was no way in hell hew was messing with that comm again. It was the university students again. And this time, they were freaking out over him giving fleeing clone troopers amnesty. They thought he was singing _Ka'gaht at Iaam_ with the other local idiots every Friday night. Well, he wasn't. He just wasn't going to go out of his way to annoy the Southern Clans, that was all. If that meant they could have their statues, teach their language, do their dances, and wave that flag around, he was going to let them do it. It might have meant that he had to deal with annoying students who called him horrible names, but at least he wasn't dealing with another war.

The funny thing was, Daenya was a first generation immigrant to Mandalore. She was of Kiffar blood, he thought, which would make her stand out. Most Mandalorians didn't have hair as curly as she did, nor did they look like her. And you could add that to the fact that yes, Mandalore _did_ have a problem with prejudice. It was something Spar was working on. Maul had done most of the hard work for him--busting enough heads until everyone agreed to not try to kill each other. Satine had actually made the problem worse. She had effectively banned most _Ka'gaht_ rituals on the grounds that they were dangerous and inciting rebellion. And yes, Spar understood the history behind their damn flag, but he really didn't care.

Letting the _Ka'gaht_ scream and shout and wave that damned flag around actually prevented them from joining Death Watch and rioting. Who knew? It also made them more interested in voting. Spar had been pushing for ballots in their tongue for some time now and not just because he was trying ti play nice. He wanted to give them a safety valve so they wouldn't go crazy. The mock battles, the rallies, the chaos that they created just meant that Spar wouldn't have to arrest more of them and risk starting another war. The _Ka'gaht_ might have been crazy and beyond poor, but they were stubborn and brilliant when it came to tactics. They were also a lot more welcoming than the cities were too the clones.

Spar glanced down at his comm. His lip curled when he saw Daenya had texted him seventeen times. He didn't know why and he didn't care. Threatening to burn down a library wasn't a good way to score points with the leadership. Of course, the library also had a lot of things written by _Ka'gaht_ authors, which was part of the problem. Spar hadn't ever read the books. He just knew that there was one that was about people being lead through a desert and not dying, two about women saving the kingdom, and the last one about a man who solved the first sealed room mystery in the known galaxy. Spar didn't quite care, but he still wrote the university a check every year. It kept one of the largest (and most volatile) ethnic groups happy.

That said, he couldn't keep ignoring his other comms. He sent Daenya a terse text, telling her that he had been attending a summit, and left it at that. She should have been arrested, but Fenn made it a point to only arrest people when violence happened. Holding a protest wasn't violent, no matter what she said about him. Spar read over his other comms. The Jedi Council had had another clone go mad and kill his General. Well, Spar didn't blame him. He rested back in his chair and plopped his boots on top of the ornate wooden desk. It seemed like the Trade Federation wanted to meet with him to end the sanctions. Well, tough luck. Last but not least, still no sign of Lord Maul.

Spar cast the glowing holocron on his desk a scowl. The thing seemed to hum a little louder in response. Maul must have forgotten the stupid thing. Spar was paying out the nose to hire the best bounty hunters around, just so he could find that thing's rightful owner. He was tired of having a glowing red and black pyramid on his desk all the time. Lightning sometimes played across it's surface, making him jump if he ever touched it. Spar didn't tell the Jedi. He got the feeling that if he did, they would start meddling. That was the last thing he needed to have happen. He sighed a little bit as he kept on working. The purser thought that someone was stealing out of the petty cash again.

That, or Na'sia's damned cat had eaten the receipts. Again.

What was the universe coming too? And he had to take care of Obi-Wan. That said, he closed the desk up, finished all his comms, and ignored Daenya as he want to care for his new slave. He'd gotten the comm from the palace doctor, a Pantoran named Taras Bolat, and the man said that while Obi-Wan had been well cared for most of his life, the past several years had been hell. There was tearing. The worst Taras had ever seen in all his years as a doctor. Obi-Wan had been starved. He didn't have anything to keep him from going into heat and it was likely that he would have health problems from not being cared for during one. Given how revolting Obi-Wan had smelled, Spar didn't blame them.

He squared his shoulders as he marched down to the doctor's office. He could see Taras, talking to Obi-Wan gently. The Stewjoni was curled up under a thick blanket, but it seemed that he was distant. Like he didn't care. Spar had seen that look before and it meant nothing good. He knocked before he entered the room, taking in the cool, clean lines and all the things Taras had. Some, like the catch he used for helping those with broken pelvises, he had made himself. He could have made a fortune, but he posted those instructions online for everyone to see. Taras was looking at a scanner, his red-purple hair tangled behind his blue ears. His face bore the yellow marks of Clan Vhett, even though Spar told him not too.

Spar had saved Taras from slavers years ago. In return, Taras had pledged his life to Spar and cured him from a rare disease that clones could get. It was called the "clone madness" and it almost cost Spar his life. Spar saw them as even, but Taras never did. He still liked serving, he claimed. The man had been bustling around, but he brightened when he saw Spar sit beside Obi-Wan. The Stewjoni sighed and curled up, pressing his face into Spar's arm. Spar held him, letting the man curl up and feel safe. He smiled a little bit. Obi-Wan might have been a mess, but he was a good person. He stroked through short, copper colored hair as he wanted for Taras to say his piece.

The man shook his head and handed Spar a readout. "Just... look at this. Please."

Spar took it and his mouth dropped open. Obi-Wan was _pregnant_.


	12. Well, That Was a Surprise

Obi-Wan had no real idea who had done it or why. He'd gone out of his way to avoid the guards, but... well, after a few drinks, and when he wasn't as nasty, he knew they had thought he was pretty. He had been drunk, so he didn't even know who it was. He didn't care, either. There had been alcohol consumed that night and he figured he deserved the resulting child. But after that... He had noticed that one of the guards had taken slightly better care of him. The man offered him slightly more food and while he did like the extra food, he didn't like that man. He thought there was nothing the man could do, short of buying him, and Obi-Wan did not want to be his slave.

Being chained to the bed and raped repeatedly was something he would like to _avoid_ , think you very much.

He sat on the bed and watched as the medics bustled around him. Now they were having a hard time deciding what kind of medication to use on him since apparently being pregnant meant you couldn't use the same pills? Obi-Wan didn't know. All he knew was that going through a heat along brought him so much pain... Thank the Force it was only four times a year. He just wanted to get this over with. The medics thought that because he was so underweight, he wasn't going to show for some time. They had already put him on a high calorie diet. Obi-Wan had glanced down at the list they had and actually made a face. Some of the food (the smoked chicken, the salmon, the roasted meat...) he liked. But the eggs? The peanut butter? Obi-Wan _hated_ those.

Fenn came in the small room and gave him a long look. The blonde Mandalorian sat beside him and didn't say much of anything out loud, but the tired look in his eyes said it all. "So. You're pregnant. And you didn't think to tell us this? Because we could have gotten you to the medics ASAP. Do... do you want to keep the baby? Because..."

"It's already too far along," Obi-Wan murmured. "It has a presence in the Force and I don't think I would stay sane if I did." He sighed and let the other man touch him. It felt good, but he couldn't let himself get used to this. He was still a slave and his child was going to be a slave. What did it matter if this... well, his owner, was kind to him? It would make his life a little easier, yes, but it wouldn't change his station in life. His child would be a slave. His child could be ripped away from him at any chance. Even if Fenn did like him, he wouldn't be free. Obi-Wan gave Fenn a tired look and touched his belly with one trembling hand. What was he going to do? Hr wasn't ready to have a child, not yet.

"Then I guess we're not going there." Fenn rubbed his face. The blonde man hugged him closely. Obi-Wan wanted to get away from him, but he wasn't sure he could do that. Not without getting in trouble. He didn't like the man very much, but he was going to take it. Obi-Wan wanted to get out of the medical bay, but he hadn't  been cleared. Fenn rubbed his face again. "C'mon. I think we're good here. You have your list of food that you can eat and the stuff they  want you to stay away from. That said, I'll get you some ice cream."

"I would much rather have tea." Obi-Wan followed him out of the medical bay, not amused by what he was going to have to eat. Yes, he enjoyed ice cream. But he really wanted some tea right about now. "I like ice cream. I really do, but I want tea. Can I have both?"

Fenn sighed softly and rubbed his face. "I think we should stick to what's on the list. I know you want some of that, but we have to think of the baby." The man steered him towards the kitchen area. Obi-Wan followed him, glowering. The man really did not want to do this, but he figured that his wants didn't matter much anymore. He was going to have a child and that child was going to be dominating his life for the next eighteen years. The child inside him moved and the Force fluttered. This child would be strong in the Force. At least Obi-Wan wouldn't be bringing a Force null into the world. It might be a foolish idea for him to bring any child into the world, but at least this one would be able to be strong.

"The baby is going to ruin your life," Obi-Wan muttered. "I'm going to be too make it just as hard on you and you won't even be able to have me when I'm heavy." Thankfully, most of the galaxy decided that you couldn't have sex with a heavily pregnant being. They thought it would hurt the child and Obi-Wan was more than happy to keep them thinking that. He was pretty sure that all the Yavinese slaves were happy they couldn't be forced into sex during that time. Obi-Wan wondered how they dealt with the hormones, though. He was starting to feel some of the urges. When Spar fingered him full of bacta, he was starting to go from half hard to full on hard.

"Love, I'm not going to hurt you," Fenn said. He sat Obi-Wan down at a worn table and offered him what looked like a bowl of ice cream. Topped with a large topping of hot fudge. Obi-Wan had to admit, it looked good. So he started eating and actually forced a good bit of it down. It actually tasted good, not like the slop he was used to eating. Here, he got to cook. He also had to admit, having a baby was going to take some getting used too. He was going to get pretty big, pretty quick. Not nearly as big as a Yavinese would in that time span, but he was going to be a pretty close second. Obi-Wan was going to have a good idea of what he was up for, though. He'd helped a Yavinese give birth.

"I'll believe that when it happens," Obi-Wan growled. What was he going to do? He couldn't just run off and go back to the Jedi Order, especially when he was going to have a child in tow. Obi-Wan needed to face the facts: he was stuck. His child would be stuck. At least this was better than being an agriculture slave, though. He was going to have to keep that thought in mind.

And then... how was he going to care for a baby?


	13. Well Then

Fenn was in a meeting when he got the news. Well, if you defined "getting the news" as "completely turning off your comm so your husband physically could not call you, no matter how many times he tried. Fenn counted _that_ as getting the news. Really, he did. The last thing he wanted to do was get sucked into an even longer meeting with his pain in the ass chief engineer. Matik Farrow was good at what he did: designing weapons and armor that made Satine's brand of "Mandalorians" want to keep the heck away from them. What Farrow was _not_ good at was learning how to keep his mouth shut when he was presented with a topic he didn't understand. Case in point: the laser radio array meeting that dragged on three hours extra because engineering had to keep asking questions.

Farrow was the best there was. He wasn't Mandalorian, though, and he was very OCD with his things, but he was the best there was and he didn't charge an arm and a leg for what he did. Farrow was happy with a moderate paycheck, a small house tucked into his own private garden, and a lab where he reigned supreme. Most of the time, Farrow didn't have apprentices. The others did, but they weren't half crazy and as cranky as a waterlogged krayt dragon. Fenn was going to let Farrow do his thing so they could keep growing leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the galaxy. Anything that kept Mandalore on top was okay with Fenn. He also knew how Farrow got when he thought people were ignoring his lectures, so he kept his comm up.

It didn't matter if you ruled the planet he lived on. When Farrow was teaching, you listened and you took notes. As long as the missiles kept going downrange with a high degree of perfection, Fenn was inclined to let the man do what he wanted. The rest of the techs, by the way, were under orders not to ask so many questions that they never got out of there. Farrow liked to explain every detail, no matter how boring, to it's full extent.

_Then again, our last seventeen tests have gone perfectly and we've never had a missile explode in the tubes._

Fenn got up as soon as Farrow was done and nodded to one of the few other men who could get along with Farrow. That man had the patience of a saint and a real talent for dealing with hard to manage people. The man nodded back to Fenn and went on his way, his head in the clouds with whatever engineers thought about to pass the time. Fenn was just happy they had someone with Farrow's skill level. The Republic had lost more than one ship from their missile tubes exploding. Fenn finally grabbed his comm and scrolled through the messages. He cringed some. The last thing he wanted to do was make his husband mad because he ignored him. Well... not even Spar would get on Farrow's bad side if he could help it.

Fenn found a decent looking corner and touched the number. "Hey. Spar. It's me. I saw you called me several times, but I was dealing with Farrow." He rested against the rough wall, closing his eyes some. He loved the older part of the palace. You could see the stone walls and the blackened places where they used to have a fireplace. "You know how he gets. So what happened?"

"Obi-Wan's pregnant." Spar sounded tired on the other end, like he didn't know what to do. Fenn cursed. What were they going to do _now_? The last thing he needed to do was leak that one to the press. They hadn't knocked Obi-Wan up, but he figured that the press would think he did. After all, he owned the man now. Obi-Wan was their responsibility. "I don't know who the father is and he isn't going to tell me. We don't know how far along he is, either. He's so scrawny that I'm honestly surprised that he kept the kids at all."

"Why, Spar?" Fenn dropped his head back on the wall. He tried to look at the tapestries, but even that wasn't helping calm him down. He bit his bottom lip as he thought. "Is he healthy? Do we need to...?" It wasn't something he liked to think about, but Obi-Wan's health came first. The man needed a lot of help as it was and babies could really make that hard... "Is he okay?"

"As okay as a former slave is going to be."

Fenn cursed out loud and glanced over at the walls and the bubbling fountains he'd had put in. "What are we going to do? He's been through hell as it is and the last thing I want to do is make it even worse than it already is."

"All we can do is try," Spar softly said. He was oddly soft, as if he was very tired. The last thing he needed to do was get himself hurt. He just wanted to help Obi-Wan out, like Fenn did, but they were both very different people. "He says he wants the kid, so there is that. It's just... we have to help him out, Fenn. Keep the Republic away from him until he's better able to deal with it."

Fenn felt his belly clench. "About that," he slowly said. "Anakin Skywalker wants to talk with us concerning Obi-Wan...."


End file.
